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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23125462">Say You're Going to Stay Forever</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RageKiss/pseuds/RageKiss'>RageKiss</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnicornProxy/pseuds/UnicornProxy'>UnicornProxy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bathing/Washing, Bed-Wetting, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Infantilism, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Urination, Wetting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:36:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,698</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23125462</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RageKiss/pseuds/RageKiss, https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnicornProxy/pseuds/UnicornProxy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Six year after the incident at the Starcourt Mall, Billy Hargrove found himself back in California, trying to get his life back together. Dealing with nightmares and a weakened body were bad enough until a blast from his Indiana past comes calling in the form of an unexpected houseguest, Steve Harrington. Can Billy learn to play nice with others just as Steve learns to cope with the responsibilities of being on his own?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>99</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Say You're Going to Stay Forever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 1 </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck!”  </p><p> </p><p>Billy woke in the dead of night, bolting upright and cursing as he frantically felt the sheets beneath him. His fist clenched in frustration around the damp bedding. </p><p> </p><p>“Not again, you idiot! Fucking idiot!” Billy chastised himself, flopping back against his pillow with an exhausted sigh.  </p><p> </p><p>Staring up at the pockmarked ceiling of his cramped apartment, Billy gave into self-pity for just a moment. Tears stung the corner of his eyes as he futilely banged his fists against the mattress. He willed his sorrow into rage as he lay there in his sweat-soaked tank top and piss-stained pajama pants. Billy twisted his scarred fingers around the hem of his tank top and yanked it from his body before kicking off his pants. Curling onto his side, Billy kept his arms wrapped around his torso as a string of expletives escaped his lips, cursing everything from his weakened bladder to his lumpy mattress. With a low whine, Billy hugged himself tighter, needing something – anything – to ground his thoughts away from the fear of his nightmare.  </p><p> </p><p>Six years had passed since Billy ran from Hawkins, Indiana. Six years of nightmares, of reliving the moment he stared down the toothy maw of the Mind Flayer, haunted him. Billy recalled waking, mind fuzzy, on the same stretch of road that brought him to the Upside Down and far away from the Starcourt Mall. Billy bore the scars of that night and, though the memories fractured and grew dim outside of sleep, the puncture marks left by the Master Manipulator in his chest gave way to dull aches. </p><p> </p><p>Forcing himself to his feet, Billy jerked the soiled sheets to the floor in a sloppy heap with his dirty clothes. He returned to the stained mattress, nude and grumbly. Billy once more stared at the ceiling, counting the popcorn tiles. </p><p> </p><p>Emerging from the Upside Down alone with a racing mind and ruined body, Billy ran. The days and weeks on the road blurred into nothing as he headed as far west from Hawkins as he could, never stopping until he hit the ocean. The familiarity of being back to the Californian stomping grounds of his formative years brought him temporary relief from the intense fear that refused to leave him. Every waking moment filled with the thought that some monster from the Upside Down would come for him, tearing him from reality back into that hellscape, but being “home” quelled those thoughts. The memories of the few times Billy could remember being happy – beach days with his mother, surfing from sun-up to sunset and eating ice cream on some forgotten pier without a thought to the tension that awaited them in a house that was never going to be home – kept him going. </p><p> </p><p><em> She was pretty… </em> </p><p> </p><p>Billy gave up on his half-hearted attempt to fall back asleep, reaching out for his near-empty pack of Marlboro Reds and the gas station lighter on top of them. Plumes of cigarette smoke soon disappeared into the darkness of the room as quickly as they appeared while Billy absently felt the scars on his chest. Fingertips traced the rounded scar tissue on the indent between his pecs; the skin still sensitive after so many years.  </p><p> </p><p>Deciding against remaining on the damp and growing colder mattress, Billy rose from bed and took a hesitant drag before exhaling the smoke through his nose. “It’s going to be a long day.” </p><p> </p><p>. </p><p> </p><p>“Damn, kid, you’re here early,” came a croaky voice from behind a Buick as Billy entered the garage of the mechanic shop. “You tryin’ get to employee of the month? Because, I gotta tell you, there’s just the two of us, and I’ve been the reignin’ champ for the last two decades.”  </p><p> </p><p>Billy slid his sunglasses, a pair of Ray Bans found on the beach, on top of his head and forced a smile. “Morning, Earl.” </p><p> </p><p>The old man stood with a groan, arthritic bones popping, as he swiped a grease-covered hand through what was left of the white hair sticking up stock straight from his head. The only clean spot on the old timer’s jumpsuit was the lovingly stitched nametag above the breast pocket.  </p><p> </p><p>“I wanted to finish the Honda before lunch,” Billy explained, grabbing his coveralls from a small locker at the back of the shop. </p><p> </p><p>Earl walked over to pluck Billy’s sunglasses from their perch before playfully slipping them on himself. “I’ll get the coffee on.” </p><p> </p><p>“Make sure to burn it.” Billy smirked, watching his boss return to the front of the shop. </p><p> </p><p>“Damn right I will! Just like mama used to make.” </p><p> </p><p>Once Earl was out of sight, Billy relaxed somewhat. Being social did not come naturally for him, never had; it was just a performance, practiced in mirrors and in the safety of his car, to be the person that it took to get him what he wanted. Billy felt more at home working in the garage than he did in his own apartment. Being under the hood gave him purpose, a reason not to think, and the dirty waterfront nearby provided the comforting sounds of crashing waves and a pleasant saltiness to the air. It probably was not the best idea for Earl to have opened the shop so close to seawater, but Billy figured it was twenty years too late for second-guessing, not that Earl seemed to care.  </p><p> </p><p>“All right, Bon Jovi, got a call to take the tow out,” Earl huffed, returning to the garage, as he patted his chest for his smokes. </p><p> </p><p>Billy glanced up at the clock, not realizing he worked through lunch. He shook the mental cobwebs from his brain before tossing Earl his pack of Marlboros. “Here, take mine.” </p><p> </p><p>“Aw, well, ain’t you a fucking sweetheart? You saved me two,” Earl joked, jabbing a calloused finger into the foil to fish out the remaining cigarettes. </p><p> </p><p>Billy waved Earl away with a snort. “Bring me back something fun to work on for once. I do one more Sedan, and I’ll blow my fucking brains out.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, next Ferrari’s all yours, kiddo.”  </p><p> </p><p>As Earl departed in the garage’s decrepit tow truck, Billy yelled after him, “Hey, put on your driving glasses, you old fuck!,” earning him a one finger salute for his efforts.  </p><p> </p><p>By the end of the day, Billy sat at the side of the shop on a pile of old tires left for salvage. He sipped a lukewarm Coke, listening to the seagulls cry overhead as the sun sunk lower and lower into the sea. Billy rubbed his hand down the side of his coveralls to scrub off a smudge of motor oil from his palm. Earl often complained about wearing a giant denim onesie, but it was oddly satisfying for Billy; the coveralls were safe, covering his scars and giving plenty of forgiveness for any daytime “accidents.”  </p><p> </p><p>“Two hundred dollars?! For what?!”  </p><p> </p><p>Billy started at the familiar voice, almost spitting out a mouthful of soda in surprise. “Harrington?”  </p><p> </p><p>Billy had not realized that Earl had even returned to the garage with the tow, let alone brought a customer back to the shop with the car. Hopping off the tires with cola in hand, Billy peered through the dirty shop window to see King Steve, standing in front of the counter in a blue Hypercolor sweater. There were pink handprints on the sweater left by Steve’s body heat after touching his chest in shock at hearing the price tag of his repairs. </p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck could possibly cost two hundred dollars on this car? It’s a station wagon!”   </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t know what to tell you, kid. No one drives station wagons anymore, gotta call in these parts,” Earl replied, Billy’s sunglasses still on and a cigarette perfectly balanced between his lips as he speaks.  </p><p> </p><p>Steve groaned in annoyance, obviously dismayed at his prized vehicle that had seemingly brought him from Hawkins to Los Angeles was finally destined for the scrap heap.  </p><p> </p><p>“Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?” Billy leans in the doorway behind Steve, lazily holding his bottle of Coca-Cola.  </p><p> </p><p>Steve whipped around, uttering a shocked “Fuck me!,” as if he was trying to convince his brain that he was not seeing a ghost.  </p><p> </p><p>“I mean, sure, if you buy me dinner first.” Billy gave a cocky laugh, stepping closer before nodding to Earl. “I’ll take this one.”  </p><p> </p><p>Earl shrugged as he wandered off into his office. “I was about to do the hard pitch, but, fine, steal my thunder.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve closed the gap between himself and Billy, patting at the other man’s chest and then grabbing his shoulders to convince himself that Billy was real. “How— how are you alive? I thought you—“ </p><p> </p><p>Billy shoved Steve’s hands away. “You grope me again, and I’ll lay you out.”  </p><p> </p><p>Steve held his hands up, taking shaky breaths to calm himself. “I’m sorry it’s just… You died. There was a funeral, a whole memorial thing…”  </p><p> </p><p>A smirk tugged at one corner of Billy’s lips. “Cute. Did you cry?” A little spark of anger blossomed in Billy’s gut, licking at the edges of his scars. “I bet Susan cried, poor bereaved stepmom. Might be the first time anyone gave her any attention.” </p><p> </p><p>“How are you here?” Steve’s expression shifted from amazement to suspicion and back again. </p><p> </p><p>“I drove, like you.” Billy leaned forward to look through the door into the garage to Steve’s station wagon. “My ride was a lot better though.” </p><p> </p><p>In truth, Billy barely remembered how he got to California. His memories appeared in flashes of hitchhiking, begging for change at a rest stop, and stumbling onto a bus before disappearing completely.  </p><p> </p><p>Steve’s eyes narrowed, and he spoke flatly, “You died.” </p><p> </p><p>“Well, if I’m a dead man, then that means you are too. You’re here with me after all.” Billy feigned nonchalance. As day after day bled into one another, trying to avoid the weigh of simply existing pull him down to a place he could not get out of, Billy felt dead. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t—“ Steve sighed as words poured out of his mouth in sputters. “I’m sorry I just— You were—” </p><p> </p><p>Billy hooks his thumb toward the station wagon. “So are you really paying two hundred bucks for this pile of shit, or do you want to cut your losses and get a beer?” </p><p> </p><p>Steve stares at him before sighing. “Beer. Yeah, beer.” Taking a shaky inhale, Steve continued, “I’ve been trapped in that car trying to get my audition tomorrow, and I need a break.” </p><p> </p><p>Billy barked out a little laugh. “Audition? You gonna be an actor, Harrington? What’s wrong? Did having ‘Prom King’ on your résumé not bring in the big bucks?” </p><p> </p><p>“Surprisingly no.” Steve leveled his gaze with Billy’s, matching his snark with calm. “I sent out a couple of tapes and got a call back. It may not work out, but I thought I’d give it a shot.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, please, fucking please, tell me you wore the little sailor suit.” Billy took a final swig of his Coke before shoving the near-empty bottle into Steve’s hand.  </p><p> </p><p>Steve appeared momentarily grossed out at the half-inch of backwash placed in his proximity, awkwardly holding the bottle and unsure of what to do with it.  </p><p> </p><p>“Didn’t wear the suit, but I did dig out the hat for one. It was a call for some Pearl Harbor flick.” </p><p> </p><p>With Steve distracted looking for a trashcan to dump the soda, Billy went out to the garage to remove his coveralls, discreetly checking the front of his jeans to feel for any sign of wetness. Finding no sprung leaks, Billy allowed himself to feel a moment’s relief.  </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, are you going or—” Steve called out. </p><p> </p><p>“Keep your panties on, Harrington!” Billy grabbed his keys and tossed his leather jacket over his shoulder before shouting a goodbye to Earl. “Remember to lock up, old man!” </p><p> </p><p>Billy guided Steve to a beat-up AMC Gremlin parked behind the shop. The car was missing the glass from the driver’s side window; the passenger door had to be opened from the inside; and an ABBA tape was permanently jammed into the 8-track player, but it was a 1970s muscle car, and that was all the incentive Billy needed to put up with the annoyances. Earl had the car on blocks when Billy first started working at the garage, and he had made it a personal mission to get the car in working order.  </p><p> </p><p>“Kind of a step down from your old ride,” Steve noted as he waited for Billy to reach across the vehicle and pop the door handle.  </p><p> </p><p>Billy’s response was to flip Steve the bird through the grimy window before shoving the door open into Steve’s legs, almost knocking him over. </p><p> </p><p>The pair eventually made their way to The Tipsy Tuna, a dive bar near the beach. The interior of the bar was dark and loud, perfect for those wanting to disappear into a drink. The bar’s one claim to fame was its terrible mascot – a bordering-on-copyright-infringement-if-it-wasn't-so-awful Charlie the Tuna knock-off named Timmy the Tuna – that could be seen emblazoned on t-shirts tacked on the wall behind the bar. Timmy invited patrons to “Get T’wasted with Timmy” with a beer bottle sloppily sketched over his fin.  </p><p> </p><p>In the glow of a neon sign, Billy toyed with the neck of his beer bottle, failing at his attempt to ignore the fact that Steve was staring at him with those fathomless doe eyes from across the table. </p><p> </p><p>“Keep gawking, Harrington, and I’ll take your ass out back.” Billy leaned forward to punch at Steve’s shoulder, leaving behind a pink fist imprint in the Hypercolor fabric. </p><p> </p><p>“Ow!” Steve winced, rubbing the sore spot left by the hit. “Fucking sue me, but I’m still having trouble believing that you’re here, right now, in front of me, alive and breathing!” </p><p> </p><p>Billy rolled his eyes and grabbed his third beer of the night from the metal ice bucket on the table.  </p><p> </p><p>Steve watched at Billy fumbled momentarily with the bottle opener, noticing the heavy scarring on his fingers that snaked up toward his elbows like trails of lightning.  </p><p> </p><p>“What happened to you that night?” Steve waited for a reply that did not come. </p><p> </p><p>Billy’s face twisted in frustration as he struggled with the opener, wanting nothing more than to drown his sorrows.  </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, talk to me.” </p><p> </p><p>When Steve tried to still Billy’s hand, Billy jerked away from the touch as though he had been brushed by open flame. He threw the bottle opener half-heartedly at Steve and missed. The opener bounced off the edge of the cheap Formica and clattered to the floor. Noise from the rest of the bar drowned out the sound, leaving them unnoticed. Billy glanced down at Steve’s hands, so soft and clean, the opposite of his own, and a familiar jealousy returned to needle his thoughts. </p><p> </p><p>Billy finally managed to speak, his words terse and careful. “I don’t remember, okay?”  </p><p> </p><p>“Nothing?” Steve sat back, wanting more, more than Billy had the ability to give. “Nothing at all?” </p><p> </p><p>“Nothing at all.” Billy felt so stupid at not being able to answer a simple question. “Last thing I remember is being in a car and…” </p><p> </p><p>Billy trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose as his head began to ache. </p><p> </p><p>“You okay?” Steve jolted again, seeing Billy’s sudden distress. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, it’s just sometimes I—” Billy groaned as the pain intensified, and a warm, wet stream started to flow down his leg, soaking his black denim jeans. A small pool of urine sank down into the plastic-covered booth beneath him as his panic rose. “I… I need a minute…” </p><p> </p><p>Billy carefully extracted himself from the booth, pressing his beer to his crotch in weak attempt to hide the mess. The darkness of the bar helped to cover the stained front of his jeans, but it could do little to mask the pungent odor that cut through the rank smell of stale peanuts and old beer.  </p><p> </p><p>Pushing himself into the empty bathroom, Billy placed his beer bottle on the counter and assessed the damage. Even though his jeans were black, the wet spot stood out even darker in contrast to the dry material, especially with the harsh fluorescent light overhead. Billy realized that the mess had soaked down inside his boots into his socks, and he hissed, “Fuck! Shit! Fuck!” </p><p> </p><p>“You know, I’ve gotten a lot of shit for this sweater, but color-changing pants?” Steve’s reflection greeted Billy as he glanced up at the voice. “Now, those are pretty rad.” </p><p> </p><p>Billy whirled around in the tiny bathroom, his dirty blond curls bouncing against his shoulders. His eyes grew wide like a trapped animal. As Billy struggled to try to explain, Steve squeezed into the bathroom and locked door behind him. Billy wished he had thought of that. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s beer! I just spilled—” Billy knew that the lie was not convincing, but he hoped that Steve would play along, give him an out to escape this embarrassment. </p><p> </p><p>Steve crossed his arms. “No, you didn’t. </p><p> </p><p>Billy’s hands trembled. He clenched a fist, instinctively raising it, but it quickly went limp as tears began to slip down his face. </p><p> </p><p>“Come on, you can’t stay like that. Your jeans are going to stain.” Steve pressed in closer to turn on the sink, feeling the temperature with the back of his hand. </p><p> </p><p>Billy could not force himself to move, frozen from embarrassment as he stomach churned and his head ached. Steve’s hands were at his belt, easily undoing the heavy buckle with little resistance. </p><p> </p><p>Steve hesitantly crouches down, pulling down Billy’s jeans and getting an eyeful of the ruined underwear beneath, already heavily stained from previous accidents. Trying to make the situation less awkward, Steve tried to return to their banter, lightheartedly remarking, “You own more than one pair?” </p><p> </p><p>Already distraught, Billy covered his face with his hands and sobbed, his whole body shuddering.  </p><p> </p><p>Steve, instantly regretting misjudging the situation, tried to calm him. “Hey, it’s okay. It was just an accident.”  </p><p> </p><p>Whether it was it was an old babysitter’s instinct or something more, Steve moved to try to hug Billy, who almost stumbled backward from the contact. </p><p> </p><p>“Stop touching me!” Billy strained to get control of himself through the tears. “Why are you always trying to fucking touch me?!” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m just trying to help.” Steve’s voice was calm as Billy shook, unable to hide how hard he was crying. “This doesn’t freak me out if that’s what you’re worried about. All that babysitting back in Hawkins, you know? This isn’t weird to me.” </p><p> </p><p>“It’s fucking weird to me!”  </p><p> </p><p>After another minute of sobbing, Billy managed to compose himself, allowing Steve to finishing removing his shoes, socks, and jeans. Steve tipped each boot up to pour any remaining liquid into the toilet and then balled up Billy’s jeans into the small amount of water in the sink.  </p><p> </p><p>“Better they be all one color, right?” After throwing away the stained socks, Steve turned back to Billy and hooked his fingers into the waistband of Billy’s underwear. “We’ll just toss these too, no use in keeping them.” </p><p> </p><p>Billy nodded, his fingers grasping at the hem of his tank top as he stood still, allowing Steve to completely undress him from the waist down. Steve grabbed the diluted pink washroom soap and sudsed up a handful of papertowels. With one hand on Billy’s hip and the other holding the paper towels, Steve scrubbed down Billy’s legs. </p><p> </p><p>The feel of the rough paper towels getting closer to his privates left Billy unable to breath a word, too humiliated to do anything other than hold onto his top as though it was the last shred of his dignity.  </p><p> </p><p>Steve flashed one of those infuriating golden boy smiles as he gently washed between Billy’s legs. “Not so bad having someone else help you?” </p><p> </p><p>Billy’s face grew hot as Steve forced him to turn around to face the counter. The paper towels moved up to scrub between his buttocks. It was almost too much for Billy to endure. He had dealt with these accidents for years, but he had never felt as low as he did at that moment.  </p><p> </p><p>“Does this hurt?” Steve peeked out from behind him, looking up. </p><p> </p><p>“What—” Billy’s voice sounded strange to his own ears, almost fragile, and left him blushing an even deeper red. </p><p> </p><p>Steve’s fingertips ghosted over the swell of one bottom cheek. “I think you’ve got a bit of a rash back here.” </p><p> </p><p>“Leave it; it’s fine,” Billy muttered. </p><p> </p><p>“I can clean it, but you might want to get some cream… maybe a salve…” </p><p> </p><p>“I said it’s fine!” Billy snapped, his heart pounding, head throbbing, and dick swelling. </p><p> </p><p>Steve did not reply as he stood up and let the water out of the sink. He began wringing out Billy’s jeans, breaking the awkward silence with a grin. “You know, I don’t have a hotel in town yet, so I think it would be nice of you to let me crash at your place for a few days as a thank you.”  </p><p> </p><p>Billy furrowed his brow. “Are you kidding me?” </p><p> </p><p>“I just washed your ass. You kind of owe me.” Steve looked over his shoulder and pretended to ignore the glimpse he caught of Billy’s semi-hard-on sticking out from his untrimmed bush of blond pubes before Billy managed to cover it with his shirt. “Everyone back home told me that it’s best to stay with friend or a cheap motel until I get settled.” </p><p> </p><p>“I live in a one room apartment with a pull-out sofa.” Billy groused before adding, “And I’m not your friend.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve held up the damp jeans, visibly all one color once again. “I could just let you waddle bare-ass back through the bar.” </p><p> </p><p>Billy glared, pride still stinging. “Harrington—” </p><p> </p><p>“Would you stop with that? It’s Steve, just Steve. Harrington sounds so formal, and we’re buddies now, right?” Steve smiled. “Buddies do favors for one another.” </p><p> </p><p>Shoulders slumping in defeat, Billy sighed. “Fine.”  </p><p> </p><p>“Hope you live close to the beach,” Steve replied, still grinning like a loon, as he helped Billy redress in the still-wet jeans. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to surf.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><em>To be continued…</em> </p>
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